


GRAB ME BY THE ****

by kcannibalp



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, Pain, TW for general ouchies, Violence, horn snapping, humankin cronus, no proofreading we post eyes closed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcannibalp/pseuds/kcannibalp
Summary: “Every time I look in one of my mirrors, every fuckin’ time. The fins, the gills, my skin, that’s all hideable; But,” and he reaches for your shoulders and for the first time he’s looking at you in the eye, “you can fix me proper... no more hiding, you can get them off. I know you can.”
Kudos: 9





	GRAB ME BY THE ****

You hear the rapping of something solid on your hive’s entrance slip into a desperate padding. 

It was a looming sunrise, and you had not expected guests. 

You look over the machinery to your quarters’ entrance silently, not moving. Your eyes strain and burn when you blink, from lack of blinks; it’s silly, really. 

It’s smoothly tumbling into morning, you shouldn’t be having visitors this early; nonetheless, you push away from your workbench and make a start for the door. 

The tendons of your legs ache and pull at your tall frame as you walk. You had been working since late into the night, and really shouldn’t have gotten so carried away.

From the stretch of corridor, you hear the front entrances handle clunk open mechanically and a cacophony of choked-off exhales flow out into the hive. 

“Wha— Who’s there?” 

You begin to walk faster. 

“Horuss?”

A gritty, loud voice, and a scuffing against the floor. You make a brisk turn and sharply twist your knee away from breaking Cronus’ nose. 

He makes a pained noise and his teeth catch the fabric of your inner thigh, unable to detach himself before you begin interrogating him. 

“Cronus, what are you doing here? Why are you on the floor? Your hive is a great distance, surely I could have been pestered beforehand, no?”

Offering your hand to him as he pushes himself off of you, and he takes it, although doesn’t make an effort to pull himself up.

“Ah, fuck, Horuss, hi-“

You tug gently and he moves loosely, like a ragdoll, holding your hand. He strains and rises onto his knees. 

“Horuss, please, I know we— we ain’t moirails or nothin’,” his grip tightens softly over the leather of your glove, “but I need you to do something for me.”

His face is angled away, looking around your living quarters, eyes jittering and watered over. His fins flit like they’re dusting themselves off and a raw, purple sheen blotches his face; it’s obvious he has been crying. 

“Whatever could I assist you in?”

As you look down at him, you watch as his stomach lurches, his chest swells and his fins flare in reaction with him as he sobs again, squeezing into your hand. 

The hardened mask he’d placed over his fragility slipped off as he led your hand up to his horn; he seemed soft and malleable under your claws. 

Cronus struggled to do the intricate puzzle that was wrap your gloved fingers around one of his horns as you stood there numbly, looking down at him, consciously breathing shallowly — you were afraid a deeper breath may push him away. 

He drew in a shaky breath, as well as your attention.

“Please, c’mon Horuss. I know you’re strong enough.”

A beat passed, then your face flushed red and your hand became clammy in your glove as you forced speech;

“Cronus, I- as much as I’d be open to assisting, Rufioh would not appr-hoof of my partaking in this- certain matter,” he didn’t so much as look up as he strained your hand on the base of his horn gently as you continued, “and, furthermore, moirails do not commonly assist eachother in this way, so I do not understand why you would assume two trolls outside of any quadrants could partake in such business.”

He began weeping again, something soft that you weren’t supposed to pick up, as he bit out an expletive. 

“No, please, fuck-“ you scrunch your nose in disgust at his language, but force yourself to soften. He is a highblood. 

His fingers wrap taut around yours. It’s not painful, but it is a plea. 

“Snap them off.”

You don’t move.

A moment passes, and then another and he shoulders you in the thigh sharply; “Snap them off.”

Your grip wavers and his shoulder-blades move under his shirt. 

He shoulders you again and you stumble back a few steps, but with his incessant grip of your hands on his horns, he unintentionally lurches forward too, letting go to catch himself. 

“Cronus, I implore you to withdraw this gory request.. For whatever reason could you- hm?”

He’s choking up racking sobs onto your boots, and you can’t allow this to go on any longer.

You heave him onto his feet from his underarms and retract your hands swiftly, hiding them behind your back before he can grab them again. 

“What is it you want?”

He huffs like a child and his eyes are still on the floor, a crumpled cigarette waving mockingly at you as he mumbles something with a shrug and a heavy sniff. 

“Uh, repeat that- please.”

His hands come up and for a split second you’re afraid, but he wipes his eyes and unloads on you. 

“I’m sick of bein’ a fucking troll. I’m so fucking sick, Horuss, and it hurts. It hurts and nobody understands.”

You have the height advantage, but even with his wider stature and currently-crumpled form, you feel smaller. 

“Every time I look in one of my mirrors, every fuckin’ time. The fins, the gills, my skin, that’s all hideable; But,” and he reaches for your shoulders and for the first time he’s looking at you in the eye, “you can fix me proper... no more hiding, you can get them off. I know you can.”

He looks absolutely wracked. 

You reach for his wrists, mouth open so slightly with too many words pushing to come out. He speaks first.

“I won’t even scream, promise. I’ll shove a sock in my mouth if I gotta.”

Something heavy and meaty rests like deadweight on your stomach. it does nothing to suppress the dizzying feeling currently stirring you up. You blink and wish oh so desperately your goggles were on. 

“Wha- no.. no I could not do that.”

His eyebrows furrow with a smile as he puffs out.

“Sure you can!! That other Zahhak kid, Equinne? He did it to himself.”

A streak of hurt runs down your chest and you force yourself not to recoil. You can do it; you simply don’t want to. 

But when has your own discomfort proved more important than the wishes of a friend? Never. That is when.

You stall for a few beats as he idly picks at the fraying leather of your jacket. He’s not looking at you and you’re not looking at him but you’re panicking and fuck it. Fuck it. 

“Please, atleast let me have you lay down.”

He exhales deeply and his fangs just barely breach his lips, making a small “ah” sound. 

“Yeah, sure, then if I pass out you v- you won’t havwe to drag me!” 

He flicks his fins wide and turns towards the corridor, and you notice briefly how deeply scarred the roots of his aquatic appendages are. 

Cronus is laying on your workbench, padded with towels and cushions, and he’s sweating. You had intended for the towels to mop up any... unsavoury fluids that may have arisen from performing this gruelling act, but he’s using them wisely nonetheless. 

Cronus’s face is uncharacteristically chalky and ashen for a sea-dweller, his eyes deadpanning on the blueprints that paper the walls. 

His gills flare occasionally and you know that it must burn; the air of your hive is saturated with the scent of oil and leather. You turn away, to spare him your judgement. 

You are both waiting, hanging on string, showing tenacity to be humble about this situation in a way that exposes the vast amounts of doubt. 

You’re scared as sh*t.

“Horuss, lets get to it then!”

Wiping your hands on a small cloth, you reapply your gloves and turn to him. 

He does not show the enthusiasm on his face as he did in his voice. 

“Yes, I suppose I’ve already agreed to it now.”

He laughs, but it’s devoid of humour.

Your heels click as you approach him and it’s starkly obvious that it is the only noise in the room. The silence is all-consuming, a void; probably not because of your aspect.

His eyes waver on your chest, trying to look through you, before failing and meeting your eyes. 

Shaking, he smiles. It’s not comforting. 

Slipping him a pitiful look, you brace your hands on his horns. 

It was true, that Equius has snapped off one of his own horns. He was hesitant to provide details, even to you, his dancestor, but he’d heavily implied it was of his own doing. 

You were stronger physically, but not emotionally, but you had to do this, because you had agreed. 

Just get it over with. 

You tightened your grip, intending to crush the horn beneath the pressure. You were afraid if you tried to bend it, you may split his skull. 

He was wincing, face tight. He leaned into your hands, probably trying to ease the pressure.

Just get it over with. 

As you tightened, you realised that the horn was likely to splinter into Cronus’s horn bed. 

You weren’t sure on how that would effect him other than immense pain, so you didn’t stop. 

He was grasping at you, crying out in pain when he stopped biting his tongue to take a sharp breath. 

Just get it over with. 

Tighter,

Just get it over with. 

Tighter,

Just get it over with.

Tighter. 

He wailed loud, sharp and you felt a crumble under your right palm’s heel, so you jerked and twisted and his scream tore through the conceivable universe, blood-curdling and raw. 

You didn't want to open your eyes to look at what you might be holding freely.

The breath sprayed from your lungs like an artery bleed — but he was fast, movements sharp. Tears scraped down Cronus's face, he bit his mouth shut and whined hoarsely as he drew your arm back to his head. 

“Cro- .. Cronus, you can’t, you cannot possibly—“

“ _Do it_ ,” he clenched beneath you, expecting pain and jerking his thumb into his mouth. Biting down, violet blood immediately spilled, and you were so hazed with panic you did what he wanted. 

There was no build up, you squeezed so hard it strained your muscles and it splintered in your grip.

When you twisted and jerked it came apart in your hand like a serving of raw spaghetti; the mass only barely being held together by the cracks’ inability to follow the jagged horn. 

His scream pierced the air shrilly for a second, before he choked on his tongue and slumped down onto your thighs; your floor. 

"Oh, oh fuck-"

You don't hold your tongue before dropping the solid object to the floor. The following thud churns your empty stomach, which forces you to turn and dry-heave onto the floor.

Only now do you notice the spilling blood from his unnaturally rounded head, and you scream.

**Author's Note:**

> crunch


End file.
